Life & Love in a Simple Journal
by Hetalia11Fanatic
Summary: Arthur Kirkland gets a journal from his mother. What happens? He writes all those details, even the romantic ones. He almost wrote a whole story of a once hated person that turns into a lover. An old rival of his returns, having affectionate feelings for him, creating a difficult love triangle.
1. Prologue

Prologue

**Arthur Kirkland - Point of View**

**[Diary Entry]**

_Day One, July 28_

We were at my house. My somewhat modern, two-story house. It has portraits of our ancestors, who were apparently well known. By 'our', I mean my family. My family is very bizarre in my opinion, but like anyone cares, if that's for sure.

My name is Arthur Kirkland. I am of British descent, yet my siblings were not even close to British. Apparently they were adopted, which I got upset at my parents for because they adopted such, abnoxious children.

They would call me abnoxious back, on the other hand. The oldest one, Scotland, as so my mother would name him, _hated_ me. He always seemed to bully me ever since he was adopted into my family. His name is Scotland because he told my parents that he was never named, and he only told him where he was born.

Next one is Wales. He is apparently the second oldest. Wales can be quiet around me and my parents, but if he was ever in public, he'd start strangling me until someone actually notices. He's more of an attention seeker, in my opinion. Then again, he has no name like Scotland.

The third oldest is Ireland. He usually cried a lot, and hated being seen with me around his friends. We never actually got together as brothers, but my father told us that we soon will be. I don't clearly understand him, as I thought he would have red hair like most Irish people. He apparently has dark brown hair with a good-looking complexion. He had a small amount of freckles, but he seemed okay if he wasn't crying all the time.

My mother was calling for dinner. She has blonde hair like me, and blue eyes. She would always wait for another child who would have her eyes, because she never had a chance to, as I have my father's eyes. Mum, as I call her, and the only one who calls her that, has said at least once that she was very feminine as a teenager, but she still is sometimes.

Father, as I call him, was strong. He is very intelligent, and as a kid, he took everything seriously, and he still does that. A lot of women liked him and approached him if my mother wasn't next to him, since he always forgot to wear his wedding ring. He never got mad at us kids, but if it was necessary, then yes, he would get mad. My father apparently got mad at Ireland once for getting low grades in school, and made him quit playing American video games our cousin gets for us every year, for a whole month.

Now today, was crazy for me. My mother was calling us for dinner, and Wales and Ireland ran to the table. Scotland was walking slow, because he never got enough sleep last night. I spent my whole day writing in this journal Mum gave me yesterday. I once said that journals were like diaries, and that diaries are for girls, but I regretted it when I starts writing in this.

My brothers always forget how old I am, and think I'm only nine years old, since I'm a little short for my age. I'm only eleven, and I'm starting middle school. Kids in my neighborhood think there is no such thing as "middle school" in England, but there actually is. In some parts of England, though. Ireland was starting 8th grade in the same middle school I am attending, and Wales and Scotland are now attending high school.

Such lucky twits.

Arthur stopped writing and put his pen, that has a small unicorn on it, on the coffee table.

"Hey, what is that?" Scotland says, grabbing Arthur's journal. "Hah, you write in a diary?"

"It's a _journal_," Arthur replies, trying to grab it from Scotland. "And don't even try to say journals are for girls."

"I know," Scotland says. "But you're too old to write in one of those."

"Mum wants me to write in it, and fill it," Arthur said, glaring at Scotland.

"Whatever," Scotland replied and throws the journal at Arthur's face, and leaves the couch.

Arthur approached the dinner table, sitting next to Scotland and grabbed the plate of scones. His father is reading a paper, and Arthur was curious about it. What was he reading?

"Arthur," His father said and looked at him.

"Yes?" Arthur said after he took a bit out of his scone.

"I have a letter from the school you're attending," Mr. Kirkland said as he gave Arthur the paper.

Arthur started reading it. "New people in my class?"

"Yes," Mr. Kirkland said. "One of them is very interesting."

The person he was talking about, Arthur froze. The new person was a transfer student from America. It stated that his name was Alfred F. Jones, and had messy blonde hair and glasses. Arthur started imagining what it would be like to meet him, since he has never met a real American in his whole entire life.

The letter also stated when school started. '_In two weeks?!' _Arthur thought.

"In two weeks your child will be starting school. Good luck!," Scotland read on the paper.

"Oh my," Arthur said, and ran upstairs, everyone else unaware why.

Arthur ran to his room and sat on his bed.

"Do I really start school in two weeks?" Arthur said to himself.

"Yes," Flying Mint Bunny said, one of Arthur's imaginary friends since he was seven.

"Another thing, am I really going to meet an American?" Arthur asked Flying Mint Bunny.

"Sure thing," Flying Mint Bunny. "After all, it was your wish."

Maybe today wasn't that bad. I'm meeting an American boy in two weeks. What could possibly happen?


	2. Chapter One

Chapter One

**Arthur Kirkland - Point of View**

**[Diary Entry #2]**

_Day Two, August 12, 4:05_ PM

It's been a long time since I've written in this diary. Scotland took my diary on the remaining days until school. So many things to write today!

I just started middle school. It starts at 8 AM and I came there a little too early, more like 7:45 AM. There was no sign of that American boy anywhere, so I just sat on a bench. I saw other kids walking to the school, the kids looking older and more popular than me. One of them threw a paper ball at my face, which gave myself a paper cut.

"Vy you sittin' zere?" The person said, having slick blonde hair and blue eyes. "Ludwig Beilschmidt clearly doesn't like loners."

'_Great_', I thought. First thing I know a kid throws something at me.

With myself wasting 30 minutes on the bench, kids were walking past me, holding their schoolbags and books. I think school just started.

A person in the middle of the campus was giving out what looked like schedules, and I got one from her. The letter from two weeks ago said my room would be Room 2 A, so I tried to find Rm. 2 A on the map and headed the direction to the room.

I bumped into some people, one of them pushing me and making me fall. I picked up my books and one kid stepped on my schedule. What a bad day.

I reached Room 2 A, and the whole was there but me. The room was somewhat large, with bizarre posters on the wall. A kid pointed to me desk and I walked quickly to my seat. I knew this was my room, but I couldn't find that American kid anywhere. I looked around, trying to find him. No luck.

"Hello," the teacher said. The teacher was a woman, a very pretty woman with brunette hair, but she looked serious. "Can you please tell us your name?"

I looked at the teacher. "Arthur Kirkland," I said quietly.

"Would you like to tell something about yourself?" she asked.

"Um," I said, lost for words.

"Before you start, I am Mrs. Toulson," Mrs. Toulson said. "I teach History class here at McFarlane Middle School. You may continue, Mr. Kirkland."

"I...," I said, still timid for words. "I own a journal?"

Some kids started laughing, and I turned tomato red.

"Be quiet!" Mrs. Toulson said. "Having a journal is nice because you can obviously recount your memories from the past, so I wouldn't be laughing."

I slightly turned back to his normal skin color. Really?

"Now, I will pass out your History text books," Mrs. Toulson said, passing out the text books. "You will turn to page 34."

When I got his, a kid next to him started whispering to me.

"You own a journal?" he asked, slightly surprised.

"Yeah, I mean-," I said, but this kid stopped him.

"Don't feel bad, I do too," he said. "My name's Gilbert Beilschmidt, nice to meet you."

"I'm Arthur Kirkland," Iwhispered.

"I know zat already," he whispered back.

"Sorry," Arthur said, then turned back to his book.

Then history class went on. I met a new journal friend called Gilbert Beilschmidt. But why did his name sound so familiar? More like last name.

It was break time. I was sitting with Gilbert and we were talking about being 'journal buddies'. I hadn't really agreed on it yet, but it's an okay idea I guess.

Then a kid who had blonde hair and blue eyes with glasses looked at us.

"Hey dude," He said. "You look like a loser!" The kid threw a spitball at me and I wiped it away.

"I do not," I replied back, glaring at him.

"There's something wrong with your eyebrows," the kid said. "Are you growing a squirrel on your forehead?"

"No!" I replied angrily, and I tackled him, and he tackled me back.

Then a person who was apprently Ireland stopped the two of us.

"STOP!" Ireland said, pulling my ear and the kid's ear.

"Ow," I said, wincing.

"Dude, knock it off," the kid said, scratching Ireland's arm to get him out of his hold.

The bell for break time sounded. It was time for maths class. I walked to Room 3 F. The kid was following me for some strange reason.

"Why are you following me?!" I asked him.

"I'm going to math class too," He replied.

"It's 'maths' class!" I argued.

"You're British, so we have different customs," He said, and walked faster.

I looked at him. Was he not British or...

I sat in my seat, and the teacher asked the kid to go up in front of the class.

"Hello, my name is Mr. Alden, and we have a transfer student," Mr. Alden said, placing his hands on the kid. He had bony fingers and he looked like he was in his 40's, mainly because he looked like he was losing hair.

I looked closer. Was he-

"Hi!" He said. "I'm Alfred F. Jones from America!"

Holy Crapola. It was the transfer student. I never realized it. How could I not?

"I just fought with that kid," Alfred said, pointing at me, and I turned tomato red again.

"Arthur Kirkland?" a girl asked, and Alfred nodded.

"He says he doesn't look like a loser, he really does!" Alfred said, and some kids were laughing with him.

I put my head down, trying to hold back tears. I thought Americans were nice, but this was the complete opposite. I was known to be sensitive, as stated from my parents, while Scotland always tells me to grow up. Sometimes I refuse to, because I want to live a good life in my childhood before I turn into a teenager.

"Arthur, are you okay?" the girl asked me, and I looked at her.

"No," I replied.

"Sorry for disturbing you," she said. "My name is Elizabeta Héderváry."

"Okay," I said with no interest, and she left.

I _hated_ that American boy. Why was I so interested to meet him in the first place?


	3. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

**[No One's] - Point of View**

Arthur got home, ignoring his parents and went upstairs. He was still upset about Alfred and what happened at school. Wales followed him upstairs, but stopped when Arthur locked the door.

"Arthur I want to talk to you," Wales said, knocking on his door.

"Go away!" Arthur replied, putting his head on the pillow as he layed down on his bed.

"I just want to talk to you," Wales said, getting a lock and opening Arthur's door.

"I don't," Arthur said, and hugged his stuffed unicorn.

"Dude," Wales said, and now sitting on Arthur's bed. "What's wrong?"

"It's about my first day," Arthur replied.

Wales stared at him. "What about it?"

"That American kid, Alfred," Arthur continued. "I usually thought all Americans were nice, but noooo!"

"You can't trust people of their personality by their facial expression," Wales said. "Stop being a baby and ignore that kid if you have to."

"What if he still bugs me?" Arthur asked him, looking into Wales's eyes. He looked back.

"Give him a good punch in the face, if that's for sure!" Wales yelled, getting up and opening the bedroom door. Arthur nodded and looked at the ceiling while laying down. Wales was right, he really should ignore him, or beat him up.

But no! He would be in trouble, he _hated_ being trouble whatsoever, even with other people. Arthur couldn't possibly beat Alfred up. If so...

Arthur walked out of his room and sat on the floor. He was thinking for a moment, then his so called "imaginary" friend came along. Flying Mint Bunny was flying around him, and Arthur tickled his/her [he possibly can't tell the gender] stomach.

"How are you, pupsik?" Arthur asked. He knew the word "pupsik" in Russian meant "cutie" in English, as a friend of Arthur named Ivan Braginski taught him, before he moved away back to Russia.

He then stopped, as the flying mint bunny also stopped. When he mentioned the Russian word, he started thinking about Ivan Braginski, the kid who was bigger than the other children and wore a scarf all the time. He usually hurt the younger kids before Arthur met Alfred, including Arthur, himself...

_It was a snowy day. Children were hitting each other with snowballs and making snowmen. Arthur was laying down on the soft, white, snow, making snow angels. His so called friend named Francis Bonnefoy who was from France, _(who had seperated with him a few years after)_ then poked Arthur._

_"Arthur," Francis said._

_"Huh?" Arthur, the seven year old, said._

_"Look over zere," Francis said, and pointed in a certain direction._

_"W-who's that?" Arthur asked him._

_"It's the boy you're always scared of," Francis replied, and Arthur got up immediately._

_"Ivan Braginski?" Arthur asked._

_"Yes," Francis said. "But I don't want him to destroy my perfectly beautiful face, so bye!" And Francis ran off._

_"Wait!" Arthur yelled, but Ivan started approaching him as other children ran away from him._

_"You will become one with Mother Russia, da?" Ivan said to Arthur, looking very horrifying._

_"N-n-no!" Arthur yelled again._

_"Why?" Ivan asked. "Why, a stupid little kid, must disagree on becoming one with Mother Russia?"_

_Arthur backed away from him. He was too scared to even reply. Ivan grabbed a faucet pipe and a pickaxe and showed them to Arthur._

_"Which hurts more?" Ivan asks him. "Faucet pipe or pickaxe?"_

_"B-b-b-both," Arthur muttered, and Russia grinned cheerfully._

_"Pickaxe it is!" Ivan said, and aimed at Arthur's chest._

_"N-N-N-NOOOO!" Arthur yelled._

_A sharp pain hit Arthur. Arthur fell to the ground and he touched what seemed to be a wound. It started trickling of blood, and Arthur could see Ivan still grinning cheerfully, then all he could see was nothing. Nothing... nothing... nothing... at all..._

"I'm fine!" The flying mint bunny responded after silence, and sitting on Arthur's head, and Arthur started shaking.

Arthur looked at the flying mint bunny sadly, and rubbed his chest. He could still feel the wound from his light sweater.

"Why looking gloom all of a sudden?" Flying Mint Bunny asked Arthur.

"Public issues," Arthur replied, and heard his mother calling his name.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Kirkland said. "I want to talk to you!"

Arthur walked downstairs, Flying Mint Bunny following him, then disappeared. his mother had a stern look stuck to her face as he was walking up to her.

"Arthur, I know what happened in school today, but it's not too bad," She said, and set Arthur on the couch.

"Not too bad?" Arthur asked. "Mum, I was completely embarassed!"

"You'll get over it soon," Mrs. Kirkland said. "Now eat up, I don't want you to eat those scones at midnight."

Arthur nodded, and he sat at the dinner table. Ireland was stuffing all the food he could ever fit in his mouth, Arthur looked at him, disgusted.

"Wha?" Ireland asked with the food in his mouth, and Arthur's head fell in his bowl. A bowl full of soup, and Arthur sighed as Scotland tried to hold a straight face in front of him.

That following night, Arthur's father had got the hairdryer and forced Arthur into the bathroom, drying his hair that was soaked in soup.


End file.
